


Darkness Becomes Her.

by jamespadfoot



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dark Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Dark Emma, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 09:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3605799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamespadfoot/pseuds/jamespadfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>at first, he goes because she is there. he goes into the darkness willingly, after his heart (and soul, and everything in between) with the intent of bringing her back to her family. back to the light.</p><p>will the darkness take hold of emma? will she pull killian back into his own? and what of henry?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness Becomes Her.

 

at first, he goes because she is there. 

he goes into the darkness willingly, after his heart (and soul, and everything in between) with the intent of bringing her back to her family. back to the light.

but then. she’s so angry. and he tries, really, to give her perspective and space, but she’s so _hurt_ , so broken and jaundiced by the deceit of everyone around her, who takes and takes and expects her to be their savior all the time, and she now knows it was because _they_  willed it that way, sacrificed someone else’s child to save their own. 

“fine,” she’d said, the last words spoken directly to her parents, “you want a dark savior? you’ll get one.”

killian jones cannot truly understand the desperation of a parent. he knows this, so he knows he cannot judge Snow and David if he’s never had to make that choice, but it burns him, much in the way it must burn her, that they were more scared of her ‘potential for darkness’ than anything else - at least that’s what it feels like. 

and it doesn’t help, when regina tells him, one night after a bit too much drink and bitterness, that light magic has always triumphed dark - at least back in their land. in hindsight, she says, now knowing what they know, that maleficient and snow could have stopped the dark curse easily. too easily, she had said, in a tone that almost wished they had. 

“killian,” emma says, calling him out of his reverie, though he’s never far from her these days. 

in truth, not much has changed, the most dramatic of things is her dress, long and black, silky-soft gowns conjured to her body’s fit. for all the darkness she claims, she has done nothing but take time for herself, indulged in her pleasures; food, late mornings in bed, the press of her naked flesh against his, isolation from a world demanding much from her. 

he is beginning to see the crocodile’s plan - he means not to make emma the evil queen. he wants her just self-serving enough that his own plans can go unhindered, and killian recognises the brilliance, because killian himself cannot deny emma this. not when she looks so free. _(he wonders where she’s hiding the sadness of the separation from her family, because it is absent in her eyes._ )

“what are you thinking about,” she demands. 

“the crocodile.”

her magic too, is more responsive. the fire flares in its grate, annoyed by the mention of rumplestiltskin, but her voice comes to him buttery soft, her hips swaying as she sashays to him. 

“why think of that disgusting man when you have this in front of you?” she all but purrs, leaning over him so her open bodice taunts him with its fullness. 

he is a man of many weaknesses, and emma swan’s perfect breasts are one of them. he leans into her, kissing the tops of her bosom, hand and hook circling her hips as he brings her into his lap. 

“you’re right darling, i’d very much rather be thinking of this,” he says, pushing the top of her dress down as he captures an already taut nipple in his mouth. 

she moans, loud and with abandon, another thing new in this version of her. if she was affectionate and a touch clingy before, this version of emma is as possessive as a pirate guarding her treasure, marking him with the scratch of her nails and bright red spots against his neck. 

he knows it’s unhealthy, had lost the ability to stand when he had mentioned how nice the wolf girl was for providing them with some jello with their sandwiches, driving her into irrational jealousy as she’d all but ripped his trousers and sucked him off right there and then. he had been mindless with ecstasy, begging and pleading and would have set himself on fire just to keep her warm if she had asked. 

she tugs on his hair then, both rough and sweet, making him zero in on giving her pleasure while he takes his.

* * * 

it’s been close to two weeks now, since emma resigned as the sheriff and walked away from her parents; the only people she’s cared to see is killian, and henry, who stubbornly insists that she’s going through a phase and ‘gramps and grandma kinda suck anyway, sometimes’.  

killian’s not sure whether to laugh or ram his head into a wall at the sudden teenage rebelliousness both mother and son seem to be exhibiting at the same time. 

but it’s easy, too. too easy, to relish in the family-like quality that has overtaken the three of them, both swans loving it when he takes them out to sea on the jolly, the sea breeze rucking their hair with freedom in their laughter. 

he tells them tales of swashbuckling, teaching henry to sword fight while partaking in a very different sword fight with his swan under the stars, when the lad is asleep. he teaches them to fish, a sport neither one of them take to, too impatient and too restless. 

he teaches them to live, slowly seeing emma, daughter of snow white and prince charming emerging, something softening under the hurt the longer she spends time at sea. henry too, seems to lose the cloud above his head, as if his emotions are tied to his mother’s. 

like the story that is his life, killian should have known better. 

* * *

rumplestiltskin shows up on his ship just as they turn back to Storybrooke, as if he had been watching the whole time, and it makes him sick because he knows the damn crocodile probably has. 

“well, well, dearies,” the crocodile says, making the three of them spring into standing positions. 

“grampa,” henry says, eyeing his green-tinged grandfather with disappointment. 

“hello, henry” the crocodile tries to say, but is blasted back to the mast with such force that the only reason he must still be alive is that he was expecting it. 

“don’t you even talk to him,” emma growls, hand still outstretched as she marches up to the crocodile. 

killian, who has had enough of the bloody crocodile coming aboard his ship to destroy his family, is faster, grabbing his sword and pointing its tip to the crocodile’s throat. 

“leave,” he says, eyeing the man with contempt.

“not without the boy.”

“over my dead body,” emma says, and killian’s throat seizes, because he knows what the crocodile’s words will be before the man says them. 

“oh, that can be arranged, dearie,” he giggles. 

“grampa!” henry scolds, but before killian can warn the boy to go below deck, the crocodile flings them away with a flourish of his hand, lifting henry with his magic as the boy shouts in surprise. 

he sees it the second emma does. during the crocodile’s theatrics, the dagger had clattered to the deck, cushioned by the bits of rope near the crocodile’s feet. emma already has it in her hand, murder in her eyes as henry screams “mom,” air being forced from his lungs. 

his body realizes what is about to happen before his mind does. 

just before the knife plunges, killian grabs her hand, wrapping his fingers next to where hers are tightly wound around the hilt of the dark one’s dagger. his movement spurs her, the sharp blade sliding without resistance into human flash, the horror he feels mangles with the dark satisfaction that rumple-bloody-stiltskin is dying. finally. nevermore to plague the world. 

henry falls heavily on his knees, wheezing, and killian takes a moment to check the boy with his eyes, cataloguing the pale face, shaking hands and bowed head. 

emma simply watches, standing tall as the crocodile crumples to the floor, a sinister smile plastered on his face, teeth stained with blood as he coughs up the dark fluid. 

“thank you,” he chokes out, watching them with mirth, and killian understands, suddenly, with a sickening clarity, “your darkness was in your potential as savior”.

and then he dies, not a word more. 

emma is standing next to him, rapture on her face, watching as life drains out of the crocodile, gold hair flying through the breeze as her dark dress swirls around her, and he too, can feel it. closes his eyes for a brief moment, welcoming back the darkness that was friend for so long.

he brings their still joined hands up, the dagger still curled tightly around their fingers, and sees it. the inscription. the crocodile’s death wish. the plan. his own future. his immortality. 

their names.

_killian jones & emma swan_


End file.
